Tara stumbled into the bathroom. With trembling hands, she gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles turning white as she struggled to steady herself.

The reflection in the mirror revealed a pale, haunted version of herself, with dark circles under her eyes and a sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and another wave of nausea washed over her, threatening to overwhelm her senses.

With a choked sob, Tara lurched forward, collapsing onto her knees. The acrid scent of disinfectant stung her nostrils as she leaned over the toilet, retching violently. Each heave sent spasms of pain rippling through her body, and she clung to the bowl for support, her entire being consumed by the physical and emotional agony coursing through her.

This had been her routine for nearly two weeks now since Daniel was found dead a few days after he was killed.

Was this her punishment for all the deaths she had caused? 

The question gnawed at her soul, a seed of doubt planted deep within her heart. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mingling with the bile and saliva pooling in the bottom of the toilet. She retched until there was nothing left inside of her but emptiness, her body wracked with exhaustion and despair.

Finally, spent and hollow, Tara crumpled onto the cold tile floor, her breaths coming in shallow, shuddering gasps. She closed her eyes, shutting out the world and the weight of her sins, if only for a moment.

The news blaring in the living room didn't allow her to forget, however. The reporter was recounting the progress of the investigations. 

After an innocent couple stumbled upon Daniel's body on one of their usual treks, the news spread like wildfire while social media blew up. The police could no longer investigate secretly as everyone sought to know every detail and make sense of the crimes. 

Tara found the conspiracy theories entertaining, though.

Pushing herself to her feet, she washed away the traces of her tears and the lingering taste of bile.

"Why does this keep-"

The reporter's voice interrupted her. 

"...an alarming period had passed but the authorities are yet to find anything..."

Tara blinked, slowly turning around and numbly stumbling toward her phone. After checking the calendar, she sank to the floor, realization hitting her like a ton of bricks. She had been too consumed with anger and her quest for retribution to pay attention to anything else. She hadn't even entertained the possibility of that happening.

"Oh, fuck."

Ethan Barlowe, Alex Everett, Nathan Anderson, and Daniel Mitchell fell prey to Tara's schemes with surprising ease. She couldn't help but ponder whether men, in general, were susceptible to such seduction and deception, or if it was a trait specific to these four individuals. All it took was a touch of makeup and a generous amount of exposed skin to lure them in.

The simplicity of it all struck Tara as both baffling and infuriating. If they were so easily drawn in by the allure of feminine flesh, why did they choose her that day? Nothing was visible but her face and hands. Her clothes were oversized, wrinkled, and frumpy even. 

The questions swirling in her mind echoed with frustration and confusion. Was it merely chance, a cruel twist of fate that led them to cross paths with her?

It had been a few months, and she had yet to find a satisfying answer.

Tara adjusted her lab coat as she walked through the sterile corridors of the mental institution. Her final target, Lucas Harris, had been admitted following a series of intense meltdowns and hallucinations, all triggered by a simple text she had sent him: "You're next."

She didn't have to do or say anything else. He quickly succumbed to fear.

The news of his friends' deaths and the gruesome details of their murders had driven Lucas into a state of paranoia and fear. He isolated himself completely, prompting his family to reach out to the police and then hire extra guards for his protection despite their humble background. The heightened security limited Tara's options and thwarted any possibility of a one-on-one encounter with her prey. But despite their efforts, Lucas's mental state continued to deteriorate, culminating in a violent outburst that landed his mother in the hospital and led to his admission into the psychiatric facility.

Begrudgingly, she had to attend her classes and finish her trimester with decent grades to ensure a brief internship at the psych ward. Stripped of her motivation and initial optimism, Tara drifted through the halls of her university like a ghost, bearing witness to the wreckage of her shattered dreams. Her parents' aspirations were the only thing holding her together, keeping her afloat and on track with a dream they had all shared for so long. But she held on, driven by the need to finish her mission.

In front of Lucas Harris' room, two guards stood sentinel, their stances rigid and unwavering. 

"Are they truly protecting a rapist?" Tara's voice slipped out involuntarily, her thoughts betraying her disgust.

Caleb, the nurse showing her around sighed, offering a somber look. "You'll meet all kinds of people here. It's best you ignore their backgrounds, otherwise you won't be able to get your job done."

His advice didn't align with her principles. Shouldn't healthcare professionals, above all, uphold a strong moral compass? It was already a bitter pill to swallow that the police had failed her not once, but twice, by neglecting to deliver justice and then shielding her aggressors instead. And now, seeing medical personnel extend their care to those who had harmed her felt like a cruel irony.

Tara suppressed a scoff, her frustration simmering beneath the surface.

A week passed, and Tara struggled to approach Lucas amidst the tight security guarding him. Exasperation mounted, souring her mood and testing her patience. To compound matters, her worsening morning sickness exacerbated her emotions, leaving her feeling increasingly irritable and on edge.

In her second week, however, a twist of fate brought them face to face as they bumped into each other in the corridor.

Lucas froze, his trembling intensified the longer they stared at each other. "I'm so sorry," he stuttered, rushing forward and dropping to his knees. His fingers dug into her forearms until she dropped the medication she was delivering. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please, please, please, forgive me."

Tara blinked, horrified as he kept apologizing over and over again. Snot and tears streamed down his blotched face. Soon, he turned into a sobbing mess, begging for forgiveness, shamelessly asking her to absolve him of the guilt eating away at his existence.

Did he recognize her? Her heart thudded harder, and her hands shook. Yet, she couldn't look away from his wide eyes and pathetic expression. He was thin and pale, one meltdown away from death.

"I didn't want to, I swear," Lucas wailed. "They called me over. They made me do it. It's their fault. It's their fucking fault." He grew agitated by the minute, his hold tightening around her as the officers tried to pry him off. "I just wanted to fit in. I didn't want to do it, you have to believe me."

Rooted to her spot, Tara could only watch as nurses rushed forward while the police wrestled him down. After injecting him with a sedative, Lucas gradually calmed down until he was fully unconscious. Then, he was carried back to his room.

Caleb shot her a sympathetic look. "Don't take it to heart, Tara," he smiled apologetically. "He does that to every woman he sees."

It was as if fate itself had intervened, orchestrating the perfect retribution for her final target without her having to take any additional action. His punishment was to live the rest of his life in constant fear and immense remorse, haunted by the weight of his actions until it drove him to insanity.

After that scene, Tara couldn't spend another second in the hospital. The drive home was full of deafening silence, and a loud emptiness consumed her. As soon as she closed the door of her apartment, she staggered to the bathroom, her steps heavy with the weight of what she had witnessed...and what she had done.

Curled on the floor, she shakily wiped her mouth from any vomit residue. Silent laments gushed out from her bloodshot eyes, and her body quaked from the effort of restraining her sobs until everything hurt from the exertion. The anger she had held onto to guide her through her quest for vengeance finally left her to deal with the aftermath of her twisted pursuit of justice.

Tara didn't regret her actions. She didn't feel sympathy for Lucas, or any of the others. No. She felt sorry for herself, her family, and her unborn child. What would her child think of her in the future? And what about her parents? Would she ever tell anyone about...all of this?

With a trembling hand, she reached for her phone, dialing a familiar number. She missed their farm and its simplicity, the villagers and their nosiness, her home and its safety.

"Hello?" came the voice on the other end of the line, warm, welcoming, soothing. 

"Mom," Tara whispered, her voice choked with tumultuous emotion. "I...I need to come home."

Word count: 1555.

Total word count: 20408.

Did you expect her final target to "go out" that way?